


The Fangirl

by mosylu



Series: Flash Ladies Month 2016 [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Flash Ladies Month, Gen, Iris Week, Iris is a Badass Journalist, and an Inspiration, and don't you forget it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 17:10:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7810309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosylu/pseuds/mosylu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iris knows her worth. But sometimes (just sometimes) it gnaws at her that others credit her career solely to the Flash.</p>
<p>Written for Flash Ladies Month on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fangirl

Sometimes Iris hates the Flash.

Not Barry. Not even really the Flash. How can she hate either of them? She loves them both.

But the Flash in the papers. The one her professional name has been, is, and will be tied to, forever.

Because no matter how long her career is (and she plans on it being _long_ ; she plans to be eighty-some and hobbling up with a micro-cloud-recorder or whatever they have in the future and croaking, “Just a few questions, Senator” and the corrupt senator will basically pee himself because it’s _Iris West-Allen_ asking) they’ll always mention how she was the mouthpiece for the Flash. She was the one who brought his story to Central City and the world.

And the whispers will always, always say that she was never anything special; that all her fame as a journalist is due to that superhero.

Just because he thought she was cute, maybe. Or because she was sleeping with him. Or something. That she didn’t do any of this on her own merits. That she didn’t earn it.

Technically speaking, she is sleeping with the Flash. And he does think she’s cute. But Iris knows that nobody would never believe her if she said he snored during allergy season, woke her up every time he went to pee in the middle of the night no matter how quiet he thought he was being, and was always the one who caved first when one of the kids wanted to sleep in their bed.

And she has to admit, the Flash was her foot in the door. Her blog, and the scoops it contained, caught the attention of CCPN, and got her that first job.

But that was ten years ago. She’s worked her tail off, chasing all kind of stories, not just superhero ones. And dammit, even that original blog was her own work, her own determination and - hah - spunk. Barry certainly hadn’t been helpful during that first year, trying to discourage her in both his roles. Where did they get off acting like the Flash had handed her entire career to her wrapped up in a bow and patted her on the head?

“Helloooooooo,” her husband’s voice crooned over the loudspeaker. “Whatcha thinking about, baby?”

“I’m thinking that if one more person, ever, comes running up going, ‘Omigod, you’re Iris West-Allen! Can you get me the Flash’s autograph?’ I swear I’ll - well, I don’t know, but it’ll be drastic.”

“Um,” he said. “Yikes?”

“Sorry, babe,” she said swiftly. He’d clearly been about to do some heavy-duty flirting, but she so wasn’t up for it tonight.

Iris was on backup duty in the cortex. Cisco and Caitlin were both out. Caitlin because she’d caught the flu from their six-year-old, and Cisco because he wouldn’t hear of leaving his two best girls, even for a few hours in the evening, even when they were both on the road to recovery.

“But I tell you what,” he’d muttered to Iris on his way out, “they’re gonna drive me batshit by the time this is done. I swear they’re in a competition to see who’s the worse patient, and right now the grown freaking woman is winning.”

“In sickness and in health, Cisco,” she told him.

“Rub it in,” he said, and left with a giant Tupperware of chicken noodle soup that she’d made for the patients.

But the quiet in the cortex gave Iris too much time to brood over the journalism conference that afternoon, and the questions she’d gotten on her talk about reporting on metahuman activity.

“Was it really that bad?” Barry asked her.

“No,” she said. “No. It was a good talk. It went well. I got great questions.”

_Can you give any advice to reporters_ without _a special relationship to a superhero?_

_Do you ever feel your integrity is compromised because of your long association with a superhero?_

_Have you ever written anything negative about a superhero?_

Barry was quiet. He felt guilty about it sometimes, she knew, so she tried not to unload on him too much. Caitlin and Linda understood better anyway. Sometimes you didn’t really feel like giving your husband Intersectional Sexism 101 every time you needed to vent.

She sighed. “It was fine. Most of it was fine. That was only a couple of questions. A couple of people. I mean, the day I can’t deal with a couple of snotty journalists who’ve watched _Mean Girls_ too many times is the day I retire because I’ve clearly lost the edge. I’m just stewing about it a little, that’s all.”

“You wanna talk it out?” he asked.

“I feel like that would make it worse right now. Just let me chew on it, baby, and you focus on serving and protecting this fair city.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” She checked the radar and the police scanner. “We’re pretty quiet tonight, but how about you swing by the university campus? Late classes are getting out and there’s always scumbags in the parking lots.”

“Sure thing. On my way.”

_WWLLD?_ she asked herself, and answered herself, _She’d give them the finger and go win another Pulitzer, that’s what she’d do._

“Whoaaaaa, what have we here?”

Iris leaned forward. “Babe?”

A _fwoosh_ , and all of a sudden Barry had a thin, ratty looking man by the jacket. “Friend of yours?” he asked, and the girl standing under the burnt-out parking lot light shook her head, her eyes wide even in the gloom.

“That was not polite,” he said sternly to the man. “Are you going to pretend you were walking her to her car? Because I have to tell you that I’ve never walked a girl to her car with a knife, and I recommend that you rethink your choices.”

The mugger snarled at him.

“Whoa, hey, _language,_ ” Barry said, and dumped him off at the campus security office before whooshing back to the girl he’d saved, who’d booked it for the glow of the nearest working light and stood looking around wide-eyed. When he reappeared, she jumped.

She had a pretty, round face, dark skin set off by the apple-blossom pink of her hijab. “Oh,” the girl gasped. “Oh! You are the Flash! I thought so!”

“Yep! And you’re safe, Miss. Everything’s going to be fine. Sorry about that. Where’s your car?”

“Just over there, but please! Don’t go yet.”

Barry stopped.

“Iris West-Allen is a friend of yours, isn’t she? The journalist? She’s written a lot of articles about you.”

Iris blinked at the monitors, baffled.

“Uh,” Barry said. “I - yes. Sure. We’re, uh, friends.”

“I - I wanted to know - do you think you could get a message to her? From me? Just to tell her that I think she’s amazing?”

Iris’s mouth fell open.

“She is,” Barry said, as always unable to stop himself from gushing over her. “She’s wonderful, isn’t she?”

“Yes! Yes. I was at her talk today? At the conference? But I was too starstruck to say anything. Her series on corruption in City Hall - and her article on biases in the police department, and I know that was hard because her dad is a retired cop and her husband works for the CCPD. She’s why I’m in the journalism program, and it’s not just because she’s also a black girl. Her writing is so smart and clear-eyed and - and - ” She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m gushing. I just wonder if you could tell her that I love her.”

“Actually, she’s really nice and approachable,” Barry said while in the cortex, Iris did her best imitation of a fish out of water, her mouth opening and closing without any sound leaking out. “You could email her and tell her that yourself. Or find her on Twitter.“

"Ohhhhh,” the girl said. “I follow her, of course, but - I don’t - ”

“Look, why don’t you write down some of your contact info and I’ll pass it along.”

“So _she’d_ contact _me_?”

“Sure! Like I said, she’s really nice.”

“Oh,” she said. But a true journalist already, she scrambled to write the information down on a scrap of paper from a notebook in her backpack.

Barry read it, and through his camera, Iris could read it too. _Fartun Zakaria,_ and an email address, a Twitter handle, and even a Tumblr. He gave the name a try. “I’m sorry, did I butcher that?”

“You were close,” she said. “It’s more like Far-toon.”

“Far-toon,” he said, sounding incredibly white. He tucked the paper inside his glove. “I’ll pass this along, and I’m sure she’ll be in touch.”

“Even if she doesn’t want to, it’s okay. Just tell her she’s amazing.”

“I will. I really will.”

“Okay. Okay, bye!” She dashed to her car, dropped her keys, and finally managed to get herself inside and the car started before Barry whooshed away.

Iris didn’t have to watch his marker on the screen to know he was coming back to Star Labs. When he zipped into the cortex, she was ready to whack him with a folder. “You set that up!”

“I didn’t!”

“You had to have set that up!”

“Noooo!” He was laughing and making no attempt to get away. “Hon, I swear. How could I possibly have set that up? What, did I get out my rolodex of starstruck Iris West-Allen fangirls and petty thieves and ask for a favor while you weren’t listening right now?”

“You have to admit they all think of you like this giant puppy who somehow manages to bite them a lot,” she said, but put the folder down. “Really?”

“Honest and for true.” He pulled his glove off and handed her the paper. Some of the ink was smeared from his palm. “Seriously, I don’t care what Cisco says about aesthetics and the line, this suit needs pockets," he mumbled.

Deeply lacking in wifely sympathy, Iris said, “Try wearing an evening gown. At least you can run in that.” She goggled at the paper, the information still clearly readable. She pulled out her phone and opened Twitter to look at Fartun’s feed.

She reminded herself not to like anything just yet. It had barely been two minutes since Fartun had given the Flash this information. That was a very, very quick turnaround time even for the Flash, and any journalism student worth her salt would start to wonder why.

“Am I super-vain?” she asked him. “If I sort of want to frame this little piece of paper?”

“Of course not.”

“I mean, I know my own worth. I know I’m a good reporter.”

“You’re awesome.”

“I don’t need people to fawn all over me or anything.”

“No, of course not.”

“It was just really nice to hear it.” She smiled down at the paper.

“I’ll tell you anytime you want,” he said loyally.

She kissed him. “I know, baby, and that means a lot. It’s just also nice to hear it from other people sometimes. People who aren’t related or my friend or married to me.”

He snuggled her close. “You’ll hear it a lot more,” he said confidently. “The world’s just getting to know Iris West-Allen.”

Iris grinned into his shoulder. Yeah, sometimes she hated the Flash, but she would always love Barry, the one person who’d always believed in her so utterly that it reminded her to believe in herself too. “Watch out, world.” 

FINIS


End file.
